


Meldir: At First Sight

by Eressë (eresse21)



Series: Greenleaf and Imladris [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The twins and Legolas’s first encounter in Greenwood the Great leads to a close and lasting friendship. First story in a series chronicling the millennia spanning relationship of Legolas and Elrohir from the moment they meet beneath the eaves of Greenwood the Great to the years of the War of the Ring and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them._
> 
> This was my very first story written way back in 2003. My writing has evolved since then (and hopefully improved), but not my choice of OTP. Since this is a completed work, I'll update as frequently as time permits. I hope it pleases.

Eryn Galen, _laer_ T.A. 234  
Morning dawned bright and golden on the High Pass in the Misty Mountains, the main passageway over the towering peaks to the lands east of the range. Following the route, a party of twelve travelers on horseback slowly made its way. Cloaked in grey, their heads hooded, they might have been mistaken for ordinary Men but for their slenderness and the exceptional grace with which they bore themselves even upon their steeds. As the morning lengthened and the sun grew warmer, they pulled back their hoods, revealing the long locks and leaf-shaped ears that marked them as altogether nonhuman. They were Elves from the hidden vale of Rivendell.

Elrond Peredhel glanced at his wife and sons. The Lord of the fabled elven-refuge sat tall and proud upon his steed. He was of an unusual comeliness born of his extremely mixed heritage. Maiarin, Elven and Mannish blood mingled in his veins with potent results. None could dispute the wisdom in his eyes or the battle-honed lines of his warrior’s body and limbs. His obsidian mane and grey eyes spoke of Noldorin forebears, in striking contrast to his exquisite wife, Celebrían, whose silvery hair and azure gaze made her seem almost unreal. 

The heiress of the Golden Wood carried herself with a cool elegance that frequently misled many into thinking her aloof and unsocial. Yet in truth the mistress of Imladris was a kindly soul with a wicked sense of humor and a probing mind. She had been gently raised in Lórien, sheltered for the most part from the vicissitudes of life in these uncertain days. She was knowledgeable about them as any intelligent being would be but she had rarely experienced them herself. Her doting husband had continued what her parents had wrought, taking care to shield her as they had done. Thus, there was an innocence about her that belied her innumerable elven years.

They were journeying with their sons and several members of their household to the Woodland Realm in Greenwood the Great. The visit to the kingdom of Thranduil, lord of the Silvan Elves of Eryn Galen, was an unprecedented event. For so long had the Sindarin king held aloof from the other Elf-lords, distrustful of their Noldorin connections, his dislike exacerbated by the role played by their last High King in the deaths of his father, Oropher, and a heartbreaking number of Wood-elves during the war of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men against the Dark Lord Sauron in the last age.

Not even his kinsman, Celeborn, Lord of Lórien, had managed to broker a diplomatic relationship between Greenwood and Rivendell or his own realm. Thranduil was as suspicious of Celeborn’s Noldorin wife, Galadriel, as he was of Elrond.

But Elrond had persevered and the two Elves had finally met the preceding year just before winter closed the passes of the Misty Mountains. The Peredhel had succeeded in thawing the Elvenking to the extent of eliciting an invitation from said monarch to pay an extended visit to his kingdom the following summer with his entire family. Elrond had not wasted any time in organizing the trip. He did not care to jeopardize the chance of an alliance with the Woodland Realm by giving Thranduil enough time to repent of his actions and rescind the hard-won invitation.

He’d struggled, however, over the prospect of bringing his sons, debating endlessly with his wife about all the things that could go wrong with the twins around. Though in their nineties and past the age of majority, Elladan and Elrohir were still proving more than a handful to their oft beleaguered parents, teachers and most of the members of Elrond’s household. But their mother had firmly insisted that they come along. Thranduil had invited the whole family. Would Elrond have him think there was something so dreadfully wrong that he would leave his sons behind? 

Celebrían looked fondly at the twins. They were so much alike in appearance that they were oft mistaken as identical. Yet there were differences between the brothers both in their physical features and their personalities. They were tall and lean but with the slight tendency towards broader shoulders and meatier limbs that was a legacy of their sire’s human ancestry. Both were exceedingly fair of countenance for they were equal parts their father and mother. 

Their coloring was distinctly Elrond’s and so they were raven-haired and grey eyed. But the blackness of Elladan’s mane was softened by the faintest hint of brown and his eyes were lighter and tinged with blue, a trait inherited from their fair-haired mother in whose veins Vanyarin blood flowed as strongly as Noldorin. Elrohir’s locks, on the other hand, were of an unusual blue-black and his eyes were purest grey akin to the color of twilight right before the stars emerged; some even swore that they seemed almost silvery.

Their differences in personality were less subtle than their physical dissimilarities. Elladan was the warmer, friendlier twin; the one who met and made friends with ease and speed. Elrohir was cooler and more cautious yet when he finally made up his mind as to someone’s worth was then fiercely loyal and protective. 

Elladan was diplomatic as a matter of course. As a rule, he would sooner bite his tongue than straightly utter anything offensive unless, of course, he completely detested someone and therefore considered it a waste of time being polite. Elrohir could be diplomatic if he put his mind to it and if it was absolutely necessary to be so. Indeed, he could be as effective as the oiliest courtier if he thought it worth his effort. But he was more often painfully frank in his opinions especially in the case of fools or blackguards. 

The twins were masters at getting what they wanted. But while Elladan preferred to cajole his way into achieving his desire and could probably charm a scorpion into stinging itself to death, Elrohir relied on the sheer force of his personality and was more apt to bend others to his will. Only those for whom he held the highest regard escaped being subjected to such handling.

Both brothers were high-spirited and adventurous. Rivendell may have been founded as a refuge by their father but there were times when the members of Elrond’s household wondered if they needed refuge of another sort from his twin sons. Evil had no place in their makeup or malice or the need to torment others. But mischievous they could be and usually were and therefore mayhem oft followed in their wakes. It was common wisdom in Imladris that when the twins were up to no good, it was better to be far, far away. Like at the Grey Havens for instance.

In one particular matter were they already gaining quite a reputation and a disreputable one at that. Their carnal appetites had developed earlier than most Elves and hardly had they attained their majority when they had began to indulge it far more diligently than was considered normal for the average male Elf. This unusual predilection was ascribed to their half-elven heritage though it was also pointed out that Elrond had never been promiscuous as his sons promised to be.

In all this, Elladan was considered the more restrained of the two. For though initially aloof and wary in any first encounter, Elrohir was very difficult to rein in once he wanted someone or something. Elladan was less guarded yet at the same time also less passionate about people and things. The depths of Elrohir’s feelings, once plumbed, were almost bottomless. 

“Just how important is this visit, _Ada_?”—Papa—Elladan asked, breaking his mother’s line of thought. The question reminded the Elven couple that they had not fully briefed their sons on the significance of the visit, caught up as they had been in preparing for it. 

“I would call it a coup, _iôn nín_ ”—my son—Elrond replied. “Considering how much Thranduil detested the Noldor, this invitation of his is nothing short of a miracle. I have no doubts that were Oropher still alive, such a thing would not come to pass. We must count it a most opportune blessing that Thranduil is more farseeing and practical than his father ever was.” 

“But is an alliance with the Wood-elves all that necessary? With the Dark Lord overthrown, what is there to fear?”

Elrond shook his head. “We overthrew Sauron but we did not utterly defeat him,” he pointed out. “Isildur ensured that when he did not destroy the One Ring as we had counseled him. The ring may be lost but it is not unmade. Until that comes to pass, I do not believe it wise to relax our guard. Already, many of our people have left these lands. We are no longer as numerous as we were in the last age. Only in unity with our remaining kin will we find the strength to withstand what the years to come may bring. ‘Tis well that Thranduil perceived the advantages of forging an alliance with us. He, too, seeks to secure the future of his people.” 

“Did you know him well?” Elrohir inquired. 

“Well enough. He lived in Lindon for a while, south of the Lhûn. We sometimes went hunting together. We might have become good friends had he and Oropher not left for Greenwood.”

“Why did he include you in his animosity?” Elrohir queried. “I thought ‘twas only the Noldorin exiles he hated. What did he hold against you?”

“His father’s death,” Elrond replied briefly. 

Elrohir said in surprise: “But Oropher launched his assault against the Dark Lord before Gil-galad gave the signal. Why should Thranduil blame you for that?” 

“Thranduil is cognizant of his father’s mistake. He does not blame anyone for that. But when he discovered his father’s folly, he tried to send for help from Gil-galad. Unfortunately, the High King delayed in answering his plea and by the time our forces arrived, fully two-thirds of Oropher’s people had been slaughtered, including Oropher himself.”

“But ‘twas not your fault,” Elladan pointed out. “We understand his anger at Gil-galad but why you as well?” 

Celebrían suddenly snickered, a sound so unlike her usual graceful laughter that it surprised her sons. “‘Tis because someone told Thranduil that the High King’s delay was due to a dalliance,” she explained, smiling at her twins’ stunned expressions.

“A dalliance, _Nana_?”—Mama—Elrohir exclaimed. “With whom?” 

“Your father,” Celebrían giggled as her husband turned a mild glare on her. His glare became a little more severe when their sons goggled at him in turn.

“A false tale,” he stated tersely. “Both Círdan and Glorfindel were with us when Thranduil’s messenger arrived. Besides, Gil-galad and I were never lovers despite what some fools chose to believe. And you should know better than to repeat that story!” he said pointedly to his mirthful wife.

Elladan managed to choke back his laughter at his sire’s discomfiture. “Then what did delay Gil-galad?” 

Elrond sighed. “Anger. He was so enraged at Oropher’s actions he almost did not send any help at all. Círdan and I had to convince him to do so but by then the damage had been done. Oropher was dead as were a great number of his people, that preposterous tale had been carried to Thranduil by Elbereth-knows-who and the surviving Wood-elves had decided to have no more to do with the decadent Golodhrim who thought nothing of taking their pleasure in the midst of battle. They only awaited the downfall of Sauron before renouncing their participation in the Alliance and severing all relations with us.”

The twins whistled at the chain of incidents that had worsened the centuries-long chasm between the woodland kingdom and the Eldarin realms.

“What changed Thranduil’s mind then, _Ada_?” Elrohir wondered. “Why this invitation to visit his kingdom?”

Celebrían laughed softly. “Your father finally managed to convince him that he was _not_ the cause of Gil-galad’s delay,” she explained.

Elrond had to grin. His wife’s humor was infectious. “I told him I preferred fair-haired Elves,” he chuckled. “One look at your mother was enough to persuade him that I spoke truly.”

After a bout of shared laughter with his family, Elrond then said, “But truth be told, you can thank your mother and Queen Ithilwen for this opportunity.” Elrond smiled proudly at his beauteous wife. “‘Twas the best idea I ever conceived of when I brought her along on that first meeting with Thranduil. She and Ithilwen got along so famously that Thranduil decided to try an alliance with us for his wife’s sake. ‘Tis said he can never deny her anything.”

The twins chuckled mischievously as their father’s cheeks colored slightly. Elrond had never been able to deny their mother anything either! 

“What are their sons like?” Elrohir asked curiously.

Celebrían was the one who answered. “Handsome for the most part and bidding fair to be as strong and skilled in arms as their father. Personally, I like the youngest prince.”

“Legolas?” Elrond reacted with some incredulity. “He is a match for our sons in high spirits and the ability to get into mischief unaided!” 

Celebrían smiled. “But kind-hearted and intelligent besides. And he has a great zest for life as well,” she pointed out. “Melthoron is too much like Oropher in my opinion, and Brethildor shows promise as a warrior, nothing more. ‘Tis a pity Legolas is not the eldest. He would make a worthier heir to Thranduil than either of his brothers. His abilities are already apparent though he is barely past his majority.”

Elrond nodded. “You speak wisely as ever, _melethen_.”—my love. “I, too, was struck by Thranduil’s youngest. He seems delicate beside his brothers but I deem his appearance deceptive. There is hidden strength and courage in him.”

Elladan smiled. “Then you do not object to our associating with him, high spirits and mischief aside?”

Elrond glanced at the older twin with a somewhat jaundiced eye. “And would my objection have any bearing on whether you befriend him or not?” At the shared grin between the brothers, he said, “I thought not. Why you see fit to afflict me with meaningless questions is beyond me.” 

Just then they crested the highest point of the pass and the eastern lands opened up before them. The twins stared at the vast carpet of green that lay before them. Eryn Galen, Greenwood the Great, the mightiest surviving forest in Middle-earth, spread out almost endlessly before their eyes. 

“Thranduil’s kingdom comprises the entire north of this forest,” Elrond informed them. The brethren had to gasp in amazement. “A great realm, do you not agree, _ionnath nín_?”—my sons.

While the twins nodded in awe, their mother added: “And an important one if we are to prevail over whatever evils are yet to come. Thranduil’s people may not be as learned as the Eldar but they are valorous and skillful and loyal to a fault. They will make strong allies.”

“I expect you both to be on your best behavior,” Elrond sternly told his sons. “Or is that too much to ask of you?” 

Elrohir smiled. “We will do our best, _Ada_ ,” he replied, “but if Legolas is, as you claim, our match in getting into interesting situations, you can hardly blame us if something untoward happens.”

“Aye,” Elladan agreed. “We would not offend our royal host by declining any offer of entertainment.”

Elrond groaned and shared a long-suffering look with his wife. “Well, I survived the Battle of Dagorlad,” he grumbled. “Mayhap I will escape unscathed from this visit, the Valar willing!”

With considerably more swiftness they began the descent down the eastern side of the Misty Mountains. They still had several days of travel ahead of them before they would reach the borders of the great forest and none wished to tarry at this point of the journey.

oOoOoOo

As they approached the elven path that led into the deeps of Greenwood, they espied the party of Wood-elves awaiting them. It was easy to identify Thranduil at once though he was clad as simply and starkly as the rest of his party. The golden-maned Elf-king radiated power and authority. He was well built and exceedingly handsome. The tales of a Vanyarin foremother in his ancestry were apparently true, the twins decided.

Elrohir scanned the rest of the royal family. Like the King the others stood out because of the way they carried themselves. Queen Ithilwen was a darkly glowing beauty, a shining moon to her husband’s blazing sun. The younger twin let his cool gaze rake over the three younger Elves at her side. These were obviously the princes of the Woodland Realm. As different from each other as Elladan and I are alike, he thought with amusement.

He spotted Melthoron at once. That one exuded pride and arrogance and an ill-concealed temper. He was fair-haired like his sire though the gold of his locks were of a darker hue but his features were neither Thranduil’s nor Ithilwen’s. Oropher’s then, Elrohir deduced, remembering his mother’s words.

Brethildor was the darkling prince. He had the Queen’s coloring but his face was mostly the King’s. He seemed friendly enough but his somewhat vacuous expression did not promise witty repartee. Here was one who would fare best away from veiled or crafty maneuverings.

Elrohir’s pewter eyes strayed to the last prince. They narrowed with interest as he regarded the youngest son of Thranduil. Here was the one his mother had praised as the most worthy of the King’s sons. 

Legolas was slender and indeed almost delicate looking beside his brothers. Silver and gold mingled in his shining locks while finely sculpted features recalled the Queen’s countenance. A good-looking youth with the promise of even greater comeliness when he matured into full adulthood. But what impressed Elrohir most was the depth of thought and feeling visible in the sapphire eyes. Celebrian was right. For an Elf barely past his majority, the youngest prince was possessed not only of intelligence but also of a yearning to learn all that life could offer. But there was also a trace of what Elrond had called high spirits in the cerulean orbs. That could only mean a love of fun and adventure as well.

Elrohir glanced at his brother and saw that Elladan was also regarding the princeling with interest. The older twin felt his brother’s gaze and looked at him. They grinned at each other. They were in one accord regarding Legolas. Life would not be boring around Thranduil’s youngest son, of that they were certain.

The two rulers addressed each other cordially but formally. Despite their former acquaintance, too much had happened in the past for them to be as much at ease as they once had been. But Celebrían and Ithilwen greeted each other with warmth and affection. There were no past issues between the two Elf-ladies to act as a barrier to their friendship now. 

Elrond then presented his sons and the other members of his entourage. He had asked his chief counsellors, valiant, sage Glorfindel and gentle, learned Erestor, captain of Rivendell’s forces and his chief steward respectively, to accompany the party. Rounding out the group were a half dozen Imladrin warriors foremost of whom were masterful Daurin and quiet Enedrion. 

The twins just managed to suppress their scowls of disgust when they were presented to Melthoron. The Crown Prince was far too haughty and condescending for either to stomach with any grace. Brethildor, on the other hand, presented a challenge of another sort. His first comment dealt with the Rivendell Elves’ weapons, which were of Noldorin make. The twins soon saw they would elicit nothing more interesting from this prince. Elladan choked back a snicker as Elrohir strove not to roll his eyes in exasperation.

But Legolas proved altogether different as the brothers had surmised. 

“And this is Legolas, my youngest,” Thranduil informed the twins. 

The prince's blue eyes were warm and welcoming if a little wide, startled by the twins’ symmetry. “ _Suilad, gwenyn o Imladris_ ”—Greetings, twins of Rivendell—he smiled. “I hope you will find Greenwood as enchanting as they say the hidden vale is.”

Two pairs of sable eyebrows rose slightly at the compliment to their home. 

“Enchantment is in the eye of the beholder,” Elladan replied. “I dare say we will find your realm as fascinating as ours.”

“To live beneath the eaves of such a great forest is an experience neither of us would willingly forego,” Elrohir added gravely.

Legolas’s smile widened. “As to that, I can promise you much,” he offered. “That is, if you are up to it?”

The challenge, however lightheartedly uttered, was there. The twins suddenly grinned in unison.

“We would be delighted to explore the fastness of Eryn Galen with you, O Prince,” Elladan chuckled.

“And more besides,” Elrohir drawled. “We do have two whole months to indulge ourselves after all.”

Elrond and Thranduil could not help overhearing the exchange. Both lords groaned in concert then stared at each other in surprise. Understanding and shared compassion dawned. The smallest smile touched Thranduil’s otherwise frosty countenance. Elrond considered his wife’s wisdom in insisting their twins come along for the visit. They might yet be the key to friendship between our two realms, he mused with a muted grin. 

Just which of the princes had drawn the twins’ liking became blatantly apparent. No sooner were the pleasantries over than Legolas found his mount sandwiched between the brethren’s steeds. Their parents watched them with interest and, admittedly, just a hint of apprehension. 

*************************************  
Glossary:  
meldir – friend  
Eryn Galen – Greenwood the Great  
laer - Sindarin for summer  
T.A. – Third Age  
Peredhel (sing.) - Half-elf/Half-elven  
Golodhrim - class plural of Golodh or ‘Deep Elf’, Sindarin for Noldor 

_To be continued…_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the writing of this series, I seldom consulted sources outside of the three main books – _The Silmarillion, The Hobbit_ and _LotR_ – because I found the surfeit of details rather tortuous and sometimes even contradictory. But for the very occasional foray into the other publications, I used _The Peoples of Middle-earth, The Book of Lost Tales, The Shaping of Middle-earth, The Lost Road, Morgoth’s Ring_ and _LACE_.


	2. Chapter 2

They had travelled little more than thirty leagues when the lead rider turned into what appeared to be a dense wall of vegetation. But lo and behold the thick brush parted as they approached to reveal another path leading northeast of their current location. As soon as every rider had turned into the hidden trail, the shrubbery closed behind them like a dungeon door. The brethren glanced at the youngest prince, eyebrows rising in appreciation of this use of elvish enchantment. Legolas smiled back proudly.

They kept to this path for the rest of the journey, another thirty leagues or so. Finally, they came upon a small glen. Before them, nestled amongst the trees, was what appeared to be a dark tunnel but on second glance proved to be yet another track lined by trees, the largest the twins had ever seen. So densely packed were the trunks of these giants that from afar they looked like solid walls and permitted very little light to illuminate the natural corridor. The brethren glanced about, became aware of the presence of beings in the concealing brush, and realized there were unseen sentries all around. But try as they might they could see no evidence of other Elves; they could only sense them. 

Only when they came up to the tunnel did the Wood-elves suddenly show themselves, stepping out from behind tree and brush to bow to their king before slipping back into concealment save for two sentries who remained at the mouth of the path. Into this near lightless hallway did the party venture, the Rivendell Elves understandably discomforted by such close and dark quarters. 

After a few minutes, they emerged from the tunnel into warm sunlight. The twins’ eyes, after adjusting to the sudden brightness, widened at the sight they beheld. Across a large clearing a wide stone bridge spanned a dark, fast-moving stream. Across the bridge was a high hill with two great doors of stone. Balconies graced the upper portion of the hill and there were windows here and there, some small, some great and tall. Ancient trees framed the hill, old vines trailing down the wide trunks and dark moss dappling the thick bark. 

Elladan followed the lines of the old trees, his keen eyes skimming upwards. With a start, he became aware of bridges of vine among the topmost branches as well as wooden platforms that had been skillfully worked into the foliage. He grinned with appreciation when he espied Elves crossing the fragile bridges with all the speed and grace of gazelles. Upon the platforms stood even more sentries.

Scanning the surroundings he also discovered that there were dwellings in the woods and even up in the trees. But they were so cunningly wrought that they looked almost as if they were part of the forest themselves. His attention was diverted back to the great hill as they crossed the bridge. Beneath them, the stream seemed to murmur menacingly. Halting at the vast doors, they all dismounted and the horses were led away, disappearing from sight as they passed around the side of the hill. 

Thranduil turned his piercing gaze upon the great doors. Almost at once, they began to open outwards as if by magic. And indeed, enchantment had opened them for there were no Elves behind them. The twins glanced at Thranduil with some awe; the imposing slabs of heavy stone had responded to his unspoken command. 

They were in for more surprises as they entered the cavernous hall. They had expected darkness and damp for they had thought they were entering nothing more than a cave. But the hall was bright and airy and light streamed in from numerous windows and doors. Going forward, they realized they were going deeper and lower into the hillside where torchlight gradually replaced natural light.

Coming to a large circular hall, they then turned down a short tunnel. As at the entrance of the cave, heavy doors suddenly swung open before them at Thranduil’s silent command and they came upon an open space. Elrohir gaped at the vista before him. A large portion of the hill had been carved away and they now stood on a wide terrace that overlooked the great forest. Birdsong and the rustling of leaves as a cool breeze passed through them reached their ears. The fragrance of wood and herb and leaf perfumed the air. 

They were led from the terrace down a wide covered path edged with trees; it looked like a pillar-lined hallway. And so they came to the residential pavilion of the palace which had been built into the most majestic trees the twins had ever seen. Created mostly from wood with stone and marble used sparingly, the pavilion blended into the forest around it. Porches and balconies and tall windows opened up virtually every chamber to the woods outside.

“But we thought you lived in the cave!” Elladan blurted out, diplomacy forgotten in his wonder.

Legolas chuckled. “A common misconception,” he admitted. “The cave is for our protection in times of peril. Otherwise, we prefer to live in the open woods.”

“We cannot blame you,” Elrohir remarked. “Such beauty as there is here cannot be appreciated enough. You have a most wondrous home, Legolas.”

The youngster smiled at the praise of his beloved forest. 

The Rivendell party soon discovered that all the bedchambers were on the second level of the pavilion whilst the main dining hall, Thranduil’s private study and other living quarters were on the ground floor. Legolas took it upon himself to show the twins their shared chamber. He could not help the pride that welled up within him as the brethren regarded their room with delight and amazement. 

“It seems not only the Golden Wood can claim such wonderful homes,” Elladan enthused.

“You’ve been to Lórien?” Legolas asked in awe.

“Aye, ‘tis our grandparents’ realm.”

“Oh, of course, how stupid of me,” Legolas said. “I had forgotten. You are also kin to my father’s cousin, Lord Celeborn.”

“You have not visited Lórien?” Elrohir inquired as he plopped down onto one of the beds.

Legolas shook his head. “ _Ada_ does not encourage such distant sojourns from here. Not even he has travelled there. I envy you. I would dearly love to see more of Middle-earth.”

“Well, if our sires come to an accord, you may very well get to visit Imladris.”

“I should like that very much!” Legolas beamed.

oOoOoOo

The night proved entertaining in more ways than one. Thranduil and his queen had decided to keep the welcoming dinner on a more informal note to give their guests time to settle in. As such, ceremonial robes for the men were made optional and, with the exceptions of Elrond and Erestor, the Rivendell Elves attired themselves in courtly tunics and hose.

Elrond and Erestor looked majestic to say the least. The robes they wore were in the fashion of the Eldar and were, therefore, long, multi-layered and completely closed down the front by clasps and ties. 

In contrast, the formal robes of the Sindar and Silvan Elves of Greenwood were shorter and less concealing. They barely reached past their knees, were fastened at their breasts by single clasps, short chains or elaborate brooches, and opened up front to reveal their thin under-tunics and hose-enclosed limbs. The brief robes seemed less stately than the Eldarin style but on the right Elf they were no less impressive. Thranduil was a walking testament to that.

It was not to be wondered at that even in courtly wear the Wood-elves should differ from their Eldarin counterparts. Life without certitude, even for immortals, necessitated constant vigilance. Thranduil wielded no elven-ring to protect his realm and folk. Should there be a sudden crisis, it would be a simple matter to throw off their brief robes and press into battle if need be. Thus, even their ornamental weapons were not merely for show but as deadly as those they wielded on the fields of battle. Fierce and mettlesome, Thranduil’s people were nothing less than glorious. 

Nevertheless, the Rivendell party made a splendid sight, at par with their Greenwood hosts in beauty and elegance. Elrond and Celebrían, his dark to her silver, were a wondrous counterpoint to Thanduil and Ithilwen. Golden-maned Glorfindel and auburn-haired Erestor also made a striking pair as they assiduously turned their diplomatic talents on the woodland nobles. Even the warriors drew their share of compliments as they unobtrusively kept watch over their lord and lady.

But when the twins made their appearance accompanied by Legolas, a virtual hush descended on the dinner guests. Both brothers had attired themselves entirely in unrelenting black broken only by the delicate silver trim and thin belts of their richly textured tunics, the silken white of their shirts showing at their necks and wrists and the mithril circlets on their raven heads. As if to flaunt their human heritage, both had braided their sable locks into single thick plaits, reminiscent of the Men of the south of whom rumor still reached the Woodland Realm. Despite their youth, they looked fell and perilous and utterly stunning. 

In stark contrast to the brethren, Legolas was all light and innocence. Clad entirely in white with only traces of gold and silver to lend formality to his raiment, he looked sweet and ethereal. Though still very young by a fully mature Elf’s reckoning, his appearance gave ample warning of the great comeliness he would very soon attain. 

They made a splendid picture as they entered the great hall, the slender and shining golden figure flanked by lithe and glowing darkness. Even their parents had to pause for breath at this first sight of their sons together.

As the evening progressed, there could be no denying the twins’ lethal allure. Thranduil was heard to wryly remark that he now believed the tales of the brothers’ early carnal exploits. Even maidens who should have known better, considering their greater years, found themselves flagrantly flirting with the twins. Not that the twins were averse to such attention. Indeed they gave as much as they received and more.

Legolas could only shake his head in amazement as his new friends reduced many a female Elf, both young and old, to blushes just by regarding them with their dark, frankly appreciative gazes. Had he been cognizant of it at the time, he might have seen more but Erestor, quick to spot potential trouble, moved swiftly to forestall it.

“ _Gwenyn_ ”—twins—“I suggest you direct your attention to maids alone,” he advised after watching Elladan’s speculative regard of the strapping son of one of Thranduil’s counsellors. 

Both Elves glanced at him with surprise. “Why?” Elrohir queried. “Is there something wrong with the males of this realm?”

“Nay, not at all. But such passions have long been discouraged in Greenwood,” Erestor explained. 

“That is absurd,” Elladan commented. “What could they gain from it?”

“Survival,” the counsellor said. “The Elves who did not make the journey to Valinor were left to fend for themselves in these mortal lands. When evil encroached on their realms, some had to make drastic choices to ensure their races would not be wiped out by attrition.”

“So they forbade the binding of male and male spirit,” Elrohir said in sudden comprehension.

“Likewise female and female,” Erestor confirmed. 

“Because such couplings would not produce new generations of Elves,” Elladan mused, quickly picking up the meat of the matter.

“Exactly,” Erestor said, pleased by the twins’ perspicacity. “You understand now why I cautioned you? What is regarded as natural in other elven realms is held to be aberrant here for the most part.”

“For the most part?”

Erestor glanced at the younger twin. “I said they discouraged such pairings. I did not say they were able to abolish it completely. Not even we can purge from our nature what is intrinsic to it.”

“Then why do they persist in its prohibition?”

“‘Tis not a simple matter to go back on millennia of established tradition. It is part of their culture now. It will be many years before the ancient ways return to this kingdom.”

“You speak as if they will return,” Elladan commented.

Erestor smiled briefly. “If your father succeeds in securing this alliance with Eryn Galen, the isolation of Thranduil’s people will come to an end. Sooner or late, what is inherent even in them will reawaken. But for now it would not be wise to flout our hosts’ traditions. Indulge your interest in the maidens if you must, _pin nith_.”—young ones. “Leave the _ellyn_ alone.” 

The twins sighed then shrugged in acquiescence. 

“A pity,” Elrohir remarked with a grin. “These Greenwood males could give the Lórien Elves much competition.”

“Aye, it would have been fascinating to discover how and if they differ,” Elladan added rakishly to which Erestor could only respond with a pained glare.

“Differ in what?”

The three Eldar turned to face an inquiring Legolas and an obviously spoiling-for-a-fight Melthoron. The steward sighed with relief that the Sindarin princes had not heard their discussion. It was too soon to speak of such matters to any of Thranduil’s sons, even the youngest though he seemed the most open and intelligent of the lot.

“We were merely discussing the differences between your people and the Galadhrim in the martial skills,” Elrohir put in smoothly. “The Lórien archers are supposed to be the finest in Middle-earth.”

Legolas smiled. “And you believe that?” he queried, preempting a caustic response from his older brother.

The brethren shrugged. “We have yet to see it proven otherwise,” Elladan said.

Melthoron could not still his tongue. “Then we shall prove it to you, Peredhel,” he declared haughtily. 

Legolas shook his head. “But how shall they make any comparisons if there are no Lórien Elves to display their skill?” he pointed out reasonably.

“As to that, mayhap we can take their part,” Elrohir said coolly, much to Erestor’s dismay. “‘Twas they who trained us after all.”

“Aye, it would be entertaining,” Elladan agreed.

“Entertaining?” Melthoron repeated, his eyes narrowed.

“To see if we can bring a woodland prince low,” the older twin grinned, ignoring the counsellor’s frightful glower. The temptation to bait this contemptuous, barely civil Elf was just too great to resist.

Melthoron turned red at the twin’s challenge. “We shall see who is brought low,” he growled. “Prepare to grovel, sons of Elrond!”

With that he spun on his heel and angrily strode off. Legolas regarded the twins thoughtfully. Both were grinning wickedly.

“You do like trouble, don’t you,” he remarked.

Erestor openly groaned at this woefully inadequate observation.

*******************************************  
Glossary:  
Ada – Papa  
ellyn – male Elves

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

Nearly a full week passed before Melthoron was able to act on his threat. In the intervening days, the brethren had ample time to discover the benefits of befriending Thranduil’s youngest son. Legolas was not merely friendly; he took the time to show them around his father’s realm. Both brothers enjoyed themselves to the hilt as the delights of the Woodland Realm presented themselves to them whether said delights entailed hunting in the deep woods, baiting the Elvenking’s soon frazzled household or choosing from amongst the numerous Elf-maids bent on getting them between their silken sheets. In this last, Legolas found himself a little out of his depth; he’d never seen such lustfulness in any Elf he knew, not even the strapping warriors of his father’s army. 

“You’d think they’d be exhausted by now,” he commented with some admiration to his childhood friends, Sirgon, Mithrael and Heledir, the fifth morning since the arrival of the Rivendell party. “That’s four nights in a row and a different maid each night!”

Heledir, a lusty youth himself, chuckled appreciatively. “At the pace they’re setting there will be precious few maids left in Eryn Galen by the end of their stay,” he mused.

“Precious few maids and a multitude of indignant Elves!” Mithrael, the scholar pointed out. “Can you not restrain them, Legolas?”

“Me? Restrain them?” Legolas snorted. “It would be far easier to whip a horde of Orcs into submission.” 

“But you like them very much, don’t you,” Sirgon observed. The son of one of Thranduil’s counsellors, he was a shy, soft-spoken lad. 

Legolas nodded, a smile gracing his finely wrought lips. “Aye, that I do,” he said. “Indeed, if they could but stay longer, I would be most pleased.”

Mithrael guffawed. “You would be pleased but methinks there are many who may decide to pass West should your wish come true. Your capacity for mischief has grown twofold under their influence, _ernilen_.”—my prince.

Legolas laughed. “So my father claims,” he admitted. “And Melthoron’s temper has grown ever shorter with every conquest the twins have made. They have bested him in this sport, at least, despite their years.“

“What of his challenge to them?” Sirgon asked curiously. 

Legolas shrugged. “I believe Melthoron intends to prove his mastery before the week is out.”

“And will he?” Mithrael queried. “Prove his mastery, I mean. What think you of the twins’ skills in archery?”

Legolas frowned thoughtfully. “I am not certain. One would think them too young to be much of a challenge to a warrior like my brother. But if there is one thing I have learned so far, it is to never underestimate them. You do so at your own peril.”

“Then it shall be a most interesting match,” Heledir said with a grin. “I imagine wagers will be on the high side for this contest.”

“They already are,” Mithrael affirmed. 

“And who do they favor?” Legolas inquired.

“‘Tis fairly equal. It seems the twins have gained many admirers.”

“What about you, Legolas?” Sirgon asked. “Who do you favor?”

The prince leaned back with a smile. “I really should support Melthoron,” he murmured. “He is my brother, after all.”

“Then you think he will win?”

The smile grew broader. “I said I should support him,” the prince said impishly. “I didn’t say I would!”

As Legolas had surmised, Melthoron reissued his challenge to the twins two days hence. A fairly large group of Elves showed up to witness the contest. It was a mostly young crowd and a mixed one as both males and maidens jockeyed for the best position from which to watch the competition.

The rules were simple. Melthoron had had the master bowmen of the kingdom set up a series of targets, nine in all, each progressively harder than its predecessor. Alternately taking the first eight tests, he and Brethildor would pit themselves against Elladan and Elrohir respectively 

The first targets were dealt with easily enough by all four Elves. Ranging from marks on tree trunks to crab apples balanced on the heads of nervous volunteers to moving targets catapulted high into the air, they were fairly simple for skilled marksmen. And skilled the four were as evidenced by their consistent success in hitting their marks. It soon became plain, however, that Elladan and Elrohir had not been jesting when they’d touted the Lórien Elves’ abilities if they, the Galadhrim’s students, were any indication of the former’s proficiency. 

While Brethildor enjoyed the competition for its own sake, the twins’ masterful performance galled Melthoron. It was insupportable that two Elves more than three centuries his junior should be able to match him or his brother, test for test. He gritted his teeth when Elladan took on the eighth challenge after him, hitting the same tiny painted spot on a tree trunk with three arrows in swift succession, then embellished the result by driving a fourth into the very center of the first three. Even Thranduil’s bowmen were seen to drop their jaws at this display by an Elf they’d considered a callow youngster. Their grudging respect and the spectators’ admiration did nothing to appease the Crown Prince’s fast fraying temper. 

Nonetheless, he was as smug as could be when they went on to the ninth and last test, which all four of them would have to face. It was daunting to say the least. The archers had strung four strands of fine twine amidst the branches of a towering tree, made taut by heavy metal weights. To these strands they had attached tiny clusters of green grapes. Half concealed in the foliage, blending in with the greenery, they were exceedingly difficult to target accurately. In addition, a strong breeze constantly rustled the twigs and leaves to and fro obscuring the clusters even further. 

Melthoron was confident of besting the twins in this last challenge for it was one he and Brethildor had assiduously practiced for many years while training with their father’s archers. He had it on good authority that only the best and most arduously trained bowmen could take on this test. But to his dismay, Brethildor faltered at this last; he only managed to graze the cluster he’d chosen. With an apologetic grin and casual shrug to his brother, he stepped aside to let the Crown Prince take his turn. Melthoron glowered at him, unable to take the setback in stride. 

With a discernible swagger, he selected his target, choosing for good effect the smallest cluster of all, which was barely discernable amongst the foliage even to keen elven eyes. The prince’s bow sang and, a moment later, the arrow tore through the exact center of the cluster showering the Elves directly below it with pieces of fruit. He smiled sneeringly at the twins as appreciative applause followed his feat. Top that, his eyes taunted them. 

Elladan and Elrohir studied the remaining clusters thoughtfully. When they remained thus for several seconds without moving, Melthoron snickered. “You can concede the match now if ‘tis too difficult for you, _pin nith_ ”—young ones—he drawled. “After all, it takes years of practice to achieve this level of mastery. No one will fault you for accepting your limitations.”

Elladan glanced at him, one eyebrow rising in disdain. “We will not concede,” he said clearly. “We will finish the course.” 

“And as for limitations, we do not recognize any,” Elrohir added. He looked at Elladan and nodded.

With dizzying speed and precision, they simultaneously fit their arrows to their bows, aimed and let loose. The sharp-tipped missiles flew straight and true. A concerted gasp arose as the arrows struck not the grape clusters but the nearly invisible strands from which they were strung, severing them and causing the fruits and metal weights to plummet down not in a showering of bits and pieces but as projectiles, the grapes exploding upon impact with the ground, the metal weights forming craters in the soil. 

For the space of a heartbeat, silence reigned as the stunned spectators took the time to comprehend what the brethren had done. And then, someone began to clap his hands. It was Legolas. 

Before long, others followed his lead and thunderous applause acknowledged the twins’ performance. With typical aplomb, the two bowed almost theatrically, eliciting laughter from the crowd. There was not a single pair of eyes present that did not regard Elrond’s sons with either masculine respect or feminine adoration. None but one that is. 

Already put out by the attention the twins had received all week long, Melthoron was all the more enraged by this show of mastery by mere Elflings. Especially Elflings he contemptuously regarded as the spawn of noxious Noldor! Crimson with embarrassment, he barely reined in his infamous temper when, in his opinion, Brethildor lowered himself to congratulate them. Scowling, he watched the brethren as they started to walk away in Legolas’ company. 

Seeing the Crown Prince’s displeasure, Elrohir paused and looked at him with amusement. “We do not make false threats or empty boasts,” he said with a smirk. He turned his back on Melthoron and moved to catch up with Elladan and Legolas.

The infamous temper snapped. Snarling angrily, Melthoron launched himself at the younger twin, taking him down by his legs. A violent engagement inevitably ensued. To the anxiety of some and the glee of others, the two Elves were soon locked in a feral struggle for primacy. Elrohir’s shock and incredulity at Melthoron’s treacherous assault evolved into a fierce rage as their battle escalated. He would not let this arrogant, foul-mouthed kingling get the better of him!

Fists flew and legs lashed out in unfettered animosity. So furious was their fight that no one, not even their brothers, dared interfere. At length, incensed beyond reason or pity, Elrohir kneed the prince brutally in the groin then threw him off with a savage jerk. Melthoron landed on his belly with winding force. With unthinkable fleetness, Elrohir fell upon him and the prince found himself face shoved into the earth, a knee digging into his back and his arms pinioned effectively behind him.

Elrohir bent low and growled: “That was low even for you, _Edhel_!”—Elf.

Elladan now swiftly intervened. He placed a calming hand on his twin’s shoulder. “Elrohir,” he simply murmured.

His brother glanced up at him. Abruptly, he moved off the fallen prince and stood up. With nary a glance at the awed spectators, he strode off into the forest, his countenance so fearsome the Wood-elves swiftly cleared a path for him. Elladan and Legolas spared one look for Melthoron before hastening after him. 

Legolas was astounded by his friend’s capacity for such fury. He had thought him the more temperate of the twins. Now he realized he still had much to learn about the brethren this lesson notwithstanding. The younger twin’s anger, while slow to kindle, once ignited was a frightening thing to behold.

Elrohir halted at the sound of his name being called. He looked back in time to see his brother and Legolas rapidly approaching. The sight of the youngest prince immediately quelled his anger and guilt swiftly took its place. He looked down, his cheeks burning with shame.

“I am sorry, Legolas,” he said as soon as the two Elves reached him. 

Legolas stared at him in surprise. “Why are you apologizing?” he exclaimed. “Melthoron began the fight. You were only defending yourself. In truth, I am surprised you did not maim him.”

Elrohir stared at him in turn. “Maim him?!” he gasped. “You did not actually expect that, did you?”

“But I did,” the archer replied honestly. “Your considerable skill begged such an outcome. I should have liked to see how you would have done it.”

Elladan regarded him with mingled shock and amusement. “For one so fair and fragile-looking, you are a bloodthirsty creature, _cunneth_ ”—princeling—he remarked.

Legolas shrugged. “But of course. I am a Wood-elf.”

The simple statement reminded the twins that the deceptive serenity of Greenwood was just that – deceptive. Thranduil possessed much enchantment of his own but it was nowhere near the levels of power lent by the elven rings wrought by Celebrimbor and now wielded in secret by three Eldarin lords, one of them their own sire. As such, Eryn Galen’s people staved off the evils without by sheer dint of their valor and skill. That meant a more primal, oft brutal reaction to the perils that threatened their realm.

Rivendell was ancient in spirit and steeped in culture and knowledge. Greenwood’s soul was as primitive, mercurial and innocently wise as nature itself. 

“Be that as it may, how am I supposed to show myself in your father’s halls tonight?” Elrohir queried anxiously.

“As you always do, _meldir_.”—friend. “My father may be harsh and quick-tempered at times but he is fair. No one can deny that Melthoron instigated that fight.” Legolas placed a soothing hand on Elrohir’s arm. “Come, you must freshen up. The evening meal is nigh on hand.”

The two princes, Thranduil’s eldest and Elrond’s youngest, presented quite a sight that evening in the dining hall. Elrohir had an ugly bruise on his temple and the backs of his hands where raw with abrasions. But Melthoron was by far the more pitiful of the two sporting as he did a blackened eye, a split lip, a sprained wrist and an obvious limp.

Publicly, Elrond chastised his son for handling their host’s heir so roughly whilst Celebrian decried his violence. Privately, the twins’ parents were puffed up with pride that Elrohir had bested an Elf a few centuries his senior and this following so closely on the heels of the brethren’s splendid performance with their bows. Glorfindel and Erestor were hard-pressed not to express their mirth at the betraying twinkle in their Lord and Lady’s eyes.

Thranduil, on the other hand, gave a stern warning to his quarrelsome son and decided there and then that Melthoron needed more training if he could be trounced by a mere youngling. Ithilwen, on the other hand, was of the opinion that her eldest child had needed the figurative spanking dealt him by Elrohir and so regarded the brawl with creditable equanimity.

The entire incident boosted the twins’ stock even further in the eyes of the Silvan Elves, their elemental natures appreciative of such basic and direct responses to the rigors of life. 

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

It was one of the first but most certainly not the last of their misadventures. In the succeeding days, the three young princes got into enough scrapes to sorely test their parents’ patience. It was as if the incident with Melthoron had unfettered their natural ebullience, which they had tried to suppress at their respective fathers’ behests.

As Elrond wryly put it: “I had hoped Legolas would have a calming influence on them.” 

To which an exasperated Thranduil replied, “I had hoped your twins would have that effect on him!”

Adding to the already volatile stew of their combined mischief was the twins’ predilection for involving as many other Elves as possible in their schemes. Thus, Legolas’ friends, Sirgon, Mithrael and Heledir, found themselves hip deep in as much trouble as was possible to get into for any reasonably sensible Elf. 

All three had cause to wonder if friendship was worth the peril of being regularly sought by irate Elves bent on ending their young lives. And all three went into hiding when an enraged Elvenking threatened to string up from the highest tree in the forest the perpetrators of the dastardly crime done to the palace’s supply of ale. None of them had ever imagined that Legolas, in collusion with the Rivendell twins, would be audacious enough to lace the ale with a harmless dye that left virtually every guard and servant with shockingly purpled lips and tongues!

But even amidst the turbulence, there were lessons to be learned and knowledge to be uncovered. More so when matters of life and death were at stake. 

The twins were adept hunters but they especially relished the challenges of the chase within the deeps of Greenwood with its densely packed trees, hidden trails, tangled thickets, and dark corners, a far cry from the sprawling forests that surrounded Rivendell. 

One chase found them with a hunting party a few leagues south of the elven path, the farthest distance the twins had yet traversed from the Wood-elves’ realm. The hunters had tracked a magnificent stag for the past hour or so, cornering it at last in a small clearing. 

Elladan crept up silently, bow in hand. It was he who had first seen the stag and now he closed in for the kill. Elrohir and Legolas stayed close behind him. The other hunters hung back, deferring to the older twin’s right to claim this bounty. Elladan looked back as Legolas lightly tapped his arm. The prince pointed across the clearing. 

“I will go around and cut it off should it try to escape us that way,” he whispered.

The twins nodded their acquiescence and spared the princeling a brief glance as he moved into the brush before focusing their attention on the stag once more. A moment later they heard a birdcall in the near distance. At the signal, Elladan raised his bow, took aim and let loose his arrow. It flew straight and true into the animal’s breast. The stag reared up and turned and attempted to dash away only to be met with another arrow in its flank. Its knees buckled and then the great beast collapsed, thrashing its legs feebly.

At that instant, the unimaginable occurred. One moment, Elladan was leaping to his feet, an elated cry issuing from his lips; the next moment, something large, hairy and obscenely black crashed through the brush and lunged at him. The older twin just barely managed to dodge the heaving mass of hideous legs and gnashing jaws. The monster went after him, its reeking mouth splayed, revealing a pair of formidable fangs.

“Elladan!” Elrohir was at his brother’s side in an instant, sword drawn and hewing at the creature. The elven blade sliced easily through the thick leathery hide and a ghastly shriek emanated from the spider. Shuddering convulsively, it dragged itself a short distance then collapsed, leaving a viscous trail of foul-smelling chorea in its wake. 

Hardly had the brethren managed to catch their breath when another spider emerged from the foliage. Followed by another. And then several more. The twins snapped into fighting stances, back-to-back, facing the new menace with grim determination. 

But even as the first of the creatures, slightly smaller in size than the others, hurled itself at them, the brothers heard the twang of arrows and watched as several embedded themselves in the spider’s body. However, the deaths of two of their fellows did not deter the others. They continued their onward march. In the twinkling of an eye, Wood-elves appeared out of the brush, knives and swords drawn. The twins had a moment to recognize Legolas in their midst before plunging into the fray themselves. 

The stench was almost overpowering. It was no simple task trying to slay the spiders whilst trying not to gag from the smell of their hides and breath. Not even a Wood-elf of Eryn Galen could long endure such a stink. 

Felling yet another spider, Elrohir glanced up to look for his brother. With relief, he saw Elladan rising to his feet after having slaughtered his foe. He turned to go to the older twin when something struck him from behind. He dropped hard to the ground, the breath knocked out of him. In the next instant, he felt sharp fangs sink deep into his left shoulder and he cried out from the shock and pain. The creature bore down on him and a burning, agonizing sensation spilled into his very flesh and blood. His head reeled as darkness threatened to take him but he fought it off furiously, refusing to become so much meat for the abomination that pinned him down mercilessly. He heard Legolas shouting something, the singing of knives as they sliced through the air and sickening thuds as they struck the creature above him.

He gulped down much needed air as the dead weight was rolled off him by the other Elves. But as he staggered to his feet, excruciating pain lanced through his left arm, from the slope of his shoulder to the tips of his fingers. He gasped, reeling, and was caught by Elladan and the Elven prince. They lowered him back down to the ground. 

Elrohir drew in a ragged breath. The pain in his arm dissipated only to be replaced by a frightening numbness. His shoulder still throbbed abominably but his arm was an unfeeling appendage that hung uselessly at his side. And the lack of sensation was slowly spreading along his entire left side. He raised horrified eyes to Legolas, eyes swimming dizzily.

“I cannot feel anything!” he hissed. “What devilry is this, Legolas?”

“‘Tis the spider’s venom,” the archer replied, drawing his knife and cutting through the twin’s tunic and shirt at the shoulder. “They render their prey helpless by paralyzing them. Then they store their victims, alive and breathing, as fresh meat for their young.”

Elladan sucked in his breath at the sight of the angry red wounds on his brother’s flesh. A vile-looking amber-colored serum trickled down his pale skin from the deep punctures, mingling with Elrohir’s blood. 

Instinct took over and he set to work drawing out as much of the poison from Elrohir’s veins as he could. Neither twin could claim their father’s brilliance in the healing arts as yet; they were too young to have apprenticed for long after all. But they were still his sons and therefore bore the gift in their very blood. Time and experience would hone this inborn talent and there was every indication they would be as skillful as any healer in Imladris.

Legolas watched in fascination as Elladan deftly manipulated the torn flesh, his fingers teasing the venom out of the younger twin’s body. The archer stared in admiration at Elrond’s older son. How could an Elf still in his first century manage such a feat? He pondered the enigma that was Elrond Peredhil, his illustrious forebears and the legacy he would bequeath to his children.

“I am sorry, _mellyn nín_ ”—my friends—he apologized at length. “The great spiders have never come this far north before. We did not expect to encounter them.”

“How long have these creatures been here?” Elrohir asked, wincing at a stab of pain as the lack of feeling slowly retreated under his brother’s able fingers.

“No one knows for certain but ‘tis believed they came here from Nan Dungortheb during the Elder Days.”

“Ungoliant’s foul descendants,” Elladan muttered tightly. “Would that they had perished when Beleriand was destroyed.”

Legolas shook his head. “It seems they fled those lands before the Great Battle and took refuge in the east,” he said. “But my people forced them out of the northern reaches of this forest in ages past and have kept them at bay all these millennia. ‘Tis curious and troubling that they dared to venture so close to our realm. All the spider colonies lie further south.” 

“Mayhap these were driven here by their fellows and were attempting to establish a new colony,” Elrohir mused, temporarily distracted from his discomfort by the subject at hand.

“Mayhap,” Legolas conceded. “But we will have to search out any survivors and destroy them. We cannot allow them to breed this close to our home.” 

Elladan stopped his ministrations, exhausted and a little defeated. “‘Tis all I can do. I have not the skill for more,” he exhaled. “I am sorry, _gwanneth_.”—younger twin.

“Nay, _muindor_ ”—brother—Elrohir replied. “You have done me much good.” He managed to flex his left hand. “There is some feeling in my arm again. And the numbness has ceased in my legs.”

Elladan managed to smile slightly. “I am glad,” he said. “But, come, we must get you back to trained healers.” Together, he and Legolas hoisted Elrohir to his feet. 

“Can you walk?” Legolas queried.

“I shall manage,” Elrohir said stoutly. “Here, Elladan, give me your arm.”

Legolas swiftly offered to support the darkling Elf on the other side. As they slowly made their way back, he kept glancing at the brethren with amazement. He was still awe-struck by Elladan’s healing skills at such a tender age. And he was stunned by the younger twin’s fortitude and strength of will. Other Elves had been known to quickly succumb to lesser spider-inflicted wounds but Elrohir had staved off unconsciousness despite the severity of his injury and the amount of venom in his system. 

He eyed the Rivendell twins with greater respect.

oOoOoOo

It was perfectly understandable that many an Elf thought the twins’ mishap would bring some respite to Thranduil’s beleaguered household. With Elrohir confined to the healing rooms and Elladan reluctant to leave his side, it was even forgivable to believe that peace would reign for the duration of the Elf-knight’s recovery.

Everyone should have known better.

Barely two days into his confinement, Elrohir was bristling at his enforced bed rest and demanding he be released. Elrond, knowing the younger twin all too well, sagely advised the Elvenking’s healers to heed his son’s demand. But they indignantly refused. Spider venom was no laughing matter, they gravely pointed out. Elrohir was still suffering from its toxic effects as evinced by his pallor and bouts of weakness. Judging that it would be better to let matters run their course, Elrond graciously acquiesced. As he told Celebrían in private, let them learn the hard way what crossing their son could entail.

The Elf-knight’s scowl when he learned of the healers’ decision was enough to send even the most imperturbable of them hastening out of his room. Refusing to bow to their dictates, he then promptly inveigled his brother into bringing entertainment to him if he would not be permitted to go to it. Elladan did not need much convincing and humored his brother with alarming alacrity. 

A day and a half later, the healers hastily and unequivocally decided the younger twin was well enough to leave their care. Their sudden change of heart was not too difficult to fathom as Thranduil soon discovered. 

He and Elrond were in his study, just beginning a discussion on the finer points of the proposed alliance, when their conversation was interrupted by his head healer. The Elf pleaded most ardently for an immediate audience. Thranduil acceded to the request and spent several minutes listening to the reason for the healer’s obvious distress. Elrond watched in bemusement as the Elvenking’s expression underwent a startling transformation. 

After the healer departed, the king turned back to the Elvenlord, his face a picture of shock and disbelief. He began to pace the room distractedly. Elrond remained seated, awaiting enlightenment.

“They have decided to release your son,” Thranduil suddenly announced.

In an instant, Elrond comprehended what was bothering the golden-haired Elf. He had already been apprised of the situation by his well-informed wife just before his meeting with the king. His lips twitched suspiciously. “Indeed,” was all he said, however. 

“It seems he convinced them of the wisdom of letting him go soonest.”

Elrond pursed his lips, manfully stifling the smile that was aching to break out. 

“May I inquire as to exactly how he convinced them?” he murmured and prepared himself for the inevitable explosion. 

Thranduil’s calm collapsed abruptly. “Maidens and minstrels cavorting in the healing rooms!” he exclaimed incredulously. “And ale, wine and miruvor dispensed to all and sundry like water! Your sons had a third of the patients and apprentice healers giggling like fools, another third sunk in drunken stupors and the rest sneaking into empty chambers for romantic trysts! Elbereth! Do they never run out of ideas to plague all of Arda?!”

Elrond sighed with been-there, done-that equanimity. “I understand ‘twas Legolas who brought in the minstrels,” he smiled wanly. Thranduil stopped his pacing to stare at him in surprise. “It seems he also chose the songs they performed; rather bawdy ones, I believe.”

Realizing Elrond was already cognizant of what had occurred, Thranduil groaned, kingly veneer breaking down under the strain. “If only for your ability to survive in the face of your sons’ capacity for mayhem, I must salute you, Peredhel!” he growled. “Thank the Powers Legolas has no twin. I cannot imagine having to deal with two of him and your sons as well!”

Elrond chuckled. “You would have my deepest sympathy had I not already lived through more than ninety years of mischief multiplied by two. I assure you, this is but a morsel of what Celebrían and I endure nearly every day.”

Thranduil almost groaned again, caught himself, then broke into another exasperated tirade. “Do you know what else they did?” he demanded. “They took it upon themselves to introduce Legolas to the pleasures of the flesh! Right in the healing chambers!” He glared at Elrond. “Where did they think they were? In a brothel?!”

Elrond’s eyebrows lifted at that. “Did they now?” he mused. “I wonder which _elleth_ they selected for that honor. No doubt she counts herself most fortunate to have been in the right place at the right time.”

Momentarily distracted, Thranduil stared at him. “Honor?” he echoed. “Most fortunate?”

“Aye, Thranduil,” Elrond smiled. “To bed an Elf as comely as your youngest son would be considered a stroke of utmost luck. To be the first to do so would be accounted the greatest privilege.”

The Elvenking regarded him with something close to amazement. “You really _are_ used to this,” he commented on a calmer note.

Elrond leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his wine. “My sons are as voracious as they are precocious,” he admitted. “Do not ask me where they came by this hot-bloodedness of theirs. I certainly was not that profligate in _my_ youth.”

Thranduil stared at him a few minutes longer. Then, unexpectedly, he began to snicker then chuckle and then guffaw until, finally, he was laughing so hard, he had to hold his sides to keep them from hurting overmuch. Elrond stared back at him in surprise.

“I am glad to have amused you,” he remarked. “But, pray tell, what did I say that you find so humorous?”

Thranduil shook his head, struggling to bring his mirth under control. “Ai, ‘tis only that I imagined my father’s reaction had he been here to witness the twins’ questionable abilities. He’d have promptly sailed West even if it meant putting up with all the Noldor of Valinor.”

Elrond’s eyes gleamed with amusement at the image painted by the king. Remembering Oropher’s haughty countenance with its perpetual sneer ever reserved for all the Noldor, he could not help deriving great pleasure from picturing the testy Elf discomfited to distraction. He chuckled heartily, turning the image over in his mind with relish. 

“I am heartened to see that you have recovered from his loss,” Elrond remarked after a while. “I hope you no longer think all the Noldor responsible for it.”

Thranduil sobered, the merriment fading swiftly from his face. He shook his head and sighed. “You and your family have done much to convince me that not all the Gelydh are kinslayers at heart. But I will always hold Gil-galad culpable for that tragedy,” he added. “My father’s rashness and folly brought him to his ruin but our people were merely following orders as was their duty. They should not have had to pay for their loyalty with their lives. Your High King failed to consider their welfare when he vented his ire on my father.”

Elrond hesitated then nodded. “I agree,” he quietly conceded. At Thranduil’s surprised reaction, he continued, “Gil-galad let his pride and anger rule him and in doing so contributed to the deaths of innocent Elves. I cannot allow my loyalty to blind me to that fact particularly since I know that his anger towards Oropher began much earlier. Your father’s foolhardy charge was not the main reason for the King’s rancor; it was merely the final straw so to speak.”

Thranduil stared at him wonderingly but when Elrond declined to elaborate further, he decided to let it go for the time being. 

“Then we are in accord on this matter,” he said instead. “You surprise me, Elrond; you and yours. My father was wrong about you. I regret I let his prejudices influence me against you.”

Elrond smiled, cheered by the Elvenking’s words. “You surprise me as well,” he countered. “Despite your aversion to my kin, you still sought to mend the rift between our peoples. Few would bend so far if it meant curbing their pride. You are far wiser than your sire ever was, Thranduil, and I say this meaning no offense to his name.”

Thranduil dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment. After a thoughtful pause, he said: “Elrond? Would you indulge my curiosity?” At the Elf-lord’s encouraging gesture, he pressed on. “About you and the High King – were you and Gil-galad...?” He trailed off delicately.

Elrond groaned out loud. “By Elbereth, if I ever catch him, I will skewer the Elf who fed you that tale, roast him alive and feed him to the Wargs!” he exclaimed. “For the last time, nay, I was not the High-king’s lover! The closest I ever got to his bed was the time Círdan and I had to tuck him in after a particularly liquid feast in Lindon.” 

Thranduil stared at him. “Gil-galad passed out from too much drink?” he gasped disbelievingly.

“He never could hold his liquor very well,” Elrond said reminiscently. “And dwarven ale was never meant for elven consumption. At least, not in such copious quantities as he imbibed that night.”

Thranduil began to shake with renewed laughter. “Valar, that is a surprise,” he chuckled. “But if you were not his lover, who was? I confess I believed the tale because he’d named you his herald.”

Elrond suddenly grimaced with melancholy, an expression so at odds with his earlier demeanor, the king was taken aback. 

“Actually, he had several lovers of both kind,” the Elvenlord replied. “But I recall one particular Elf he favored so greatly that the departure of this Elf from Lindon caused quite an upheaval in court the likes of which I have yet to witness again.”

Thranduil raised his eyebrows in obvious interest. “Indeed. And who was this esteemed Elf?”

“He was born in Lindon after the Great Battle,” Elrond said, “had golden hair, was of noble lineage being a kinsman of Thingol of Doriath and lived with his father south of the Lhûn. Can you remember the only Elf residing in Lindon at the time who fit that description?” 

At first, the Elvenking looked at him in perplexity. And then his eyes widened incredulously as comprehension came upon him.

“You don’t mean—?”

Elrond nodded in gentle affirmation. Thranduil sank down into the chair opposite him, mouth gaping in uncharacteristic gracelessness. 

“Sweet Eru, no wonder my father was so eager for us to leave Lindon with Celeborn when he and Galadriel decided to move east,” he muttered. “Elbereth, I never would have guessed!” He glanced at Elrond. “That’s what you meant earlier,” he said. “The main reason for Gil-galad’s rancor towards my father.”

“And for your father’s hostility towards him,” Elrond agreed. “A matter of conflicting interests, you might say. Unfortunately, it also deepened your father’s distrust of the Noldor,” Elrond added. “We weren’t just kinslayers in his eyes; he saw us as corruptors of youth because of Gil-galad’s attraction to you.” 

Thranduil snorted. “That was absurd of him. I was no Elfling and knew my own mind even then.”

“Nevertheless, he must have feared you would be seduced by Gil-galad’s position if not by the king himself.” Elrond frowned in remembrance of that distant past. “After you left, Gil-galad had a succession of lovers but he always had a soft spot for you. You were the argument Círdan and I used to persuade him to send help to your father despite his premature attack on Mordor.” He smiled sadly as Thranduil’s eyes flickered in shock. “Though his passion for you had long passed, he did not want to see you harmed.” 

Thranduil shook his head in amazement. “Who would have thought it?” he murmured. “Did he know of my rage against him before he...?” He paused, recalling the High King’s fiery end.

Elrond shook his head. “Círdan and I took care to keep your reaction from him,” he said kindly. “We did not want further distractions to cloud his judgment. We led him to believe that you were merely overwhelmed by grief.” 

Thranduil let out a pensive breath. “Strange as it may sound, I am glad that you did,” he admitted. “Whatever his role in the deaths of my father and people, I would not have had him bear my hatred unto his death. We all suffered enough as it was.” He shook his head regretfully. “My father should not have hidden this from me. Events may have turned out differently had there been trust and goodwill between us rather than anger and animosity. And had I known the truth, I think I would have accepted Gil-galad’s friendship though not his love. Even had he survived the battle on Orodruin that would not have been possible. You know of my people’s choice in this matter.”

“Aye, I am well aware of the path you had to take,” Elrond said. “I even understand the reasons behind that decision. But I do question the wisdom of sustaining this prohibition indefinitely. Not even we can excise from our beings something we are born with.”

Thranduil smiled slightly. “Time will take care of that matter,” he pointed out. “Time and, possibly, this alliance of ours.” He pursed his lips musingly. “This has been a most interesting afternoon. I wonder what Ithilwen will make of this last revelation.”

Elrond’s suddenly grinned, melancholy quickly forgotten. “She will most likely think you even more desirable for having drawn the High King’s affections,” he suggested archly. “In which case, shall Celebrían and I assume that you will be too busy to attend to us tomorrow?” he asked with spurious innocence.

Thranduil blushed a nice shade of crimson. He glared at Elrond. But his lips twitched. The Elf-lord’s grin was infectious to say the least. The blue eyes narrowed with the king’s effort to keep his feelings in check. With purposeful crudeness, Elrond suggestively licked the rim of his goblet. That did it.

The proud Elvenking threw regal dignity to the wind once more and dissolved into raucous laughter in which the Lord of Rivendell ably joined him. When they finally emerged from the study, both were red from their mirthful exertions. But something more than hilarity had been enjoined. By the evening meal, the alliance between the woodland kingdom of Eryn Galen and the elven-realm of Imladris was duly and most amiably sealed with a chuckle or two thrown in for good measure.

****************************************  
Glossary:  
Elder days - the First Age  
Ungoliant - the giant spider that caused the deaths of the Two Trees of Valinor  
Beleriand - northeastern region of Middle-earth in the First Age that sank beneath Belegaer after the Great Battle  
Great Battle - the battle between the host of Valinor and the forces of Morgoth in the First Age  
Peredhel (sing.) – Half-elf/Half-elven  
elleth – Elf-maid  
Gelydh (pl.) – ‘Deep Elves’, Sindarin name for the Noldor 

_To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

To Elrohir’s disappointment, the search for the remaining spiders that had migrated into the Wood-elves’ territory took place a few days hence. He was perforce obliged to be content with his brother and Legolas’ recounting of the hunt much to his displeasure for so rousing were their tales that he truly rued not having a part in them. But even he had to own himself unready for such an arduous undertaking while his body still contended with the spider’s potent venom.

He listened with interest and increasing amusement as Elladan waxed fulsomely about Legolas’ abilities on the field. 

“You should have seen him, _gwanneth_!”—younger twin—the older twin enthused. “Three spiders converging on his position and what does he do? Blinds one with his knife, riddles another with arrows and skewers the last with his sword! I swear I have never seen the like!”

Legolas’ reddened cheeks, brought on by Elladan’s praise, turned even more crimson under Elrohir’s fond regard. The Elf-knight’s eyes sparkled with warmth and admiration.

“You make too much of me,” the prince protested. “I did not have much of a choice. It was either fight or end up in those monsters’ bellies. I had no desire to provide a meal for them!”

“I doubt you need fear that,” Elrohir said. “You have proven your mettle in battle to have roused Elladan’s enthusiasm so. You will do your family proud yet, Calenlass.” 

Legolas started in surprise. “Green Leaf?” he echoed 

“‘Tis but another rendering of your name,” Elrohir said.

The prince stared at him. Then he suddenly broke into a brilliant smile. He liked the name. And it pleased him greatly that the younger twin should count him close enough to bestow it upon him. Elrohir smiled back, seeing his friend’s pleasure.

Neither noticed Elladan’s uplifted eyebrows. Only after Legolas had left their chamber did Elrohir take note of his twin’s expression.

“What?” he asked.

Elladan narrowed his eyes curiously. “A pet name, Elrohir?” he remarked. “So soon?”

Elrohir shrugged. “I like him well. We both do,” he answered. “I would have him our good friend and not just a passing acquaintance.” He looked pointedly at his brother. “Don’t you?” 

“Of course, I do,” Elladan said. “But you are not given to making such precipitate decisions, _tôr neth_.”—young brother.

“Meaning I am slow to choose my friends,” the younger twin said. “And I will continue to be so, Elladan, but Legolas is different. He hides nothing from us and therefore we already know he is more than worthy of our trust and regard. There is no need for caution in his case.”

Elladan nodded slowly. “You have a point,” he conceded. “I must own myself amazed at his openness with us. ‘Tis surprising.”

“Mayhap he senses as we do that our friendship is meant to be.”

“Mayhap.” Of a sudden, Elladan grinned impishly. “Have you given thought to my plan for the farewell dinner?” he asked, changing the subject abruptly. “‘Tis but little more than a week from now and we will need time to do it if you agree with me.”

Elrohir grinned back. “I have given thought to it and think it a most excellent idea, _gwanur_. But we will need to keep it secret if ‘tis to be successful.”

Elladan chuckled. “I am sure a certain prince of Greenwood will help us in this and not breathe a word of it to any.” 

Elrohir started to snicker then frowned slightly. “But _Naneth_? Think you she will forgive us? She put in much time and effort after all.”

The older twin airily waved away his brother’s concern. “She will be upset at first,” he agreed. “But not for long. She never is. And besides, she trusts our taste.”

Elrohir relaxed. “I imagine our hosts will be well pleased,” he said.

“More than pleased, _tôren_ ”—my brother—Elladan amended. “Flattered would be nearer the mark. So, are we to do this?”

Elrohir laughed softly. “You had best call Legolas back in here then,” he suggested. “We do not have much time.”

Elladan nodded in merry acquiescence and went off in search of their friend.

oOoOoOo

“You want my father to do WHAT?!” Mithrael exclaimed. “Are you insane?”

“I am in full possession of my faculties,” Legolas calmly replied. “Come now, _mellon_ , ‘tis but a small favor I am asking of you.”

“Small?” the scholarly Elf sputtered. “Lady Celebrían will flay me alive if she ever finds out about my part in this.”

“Ah, then you are agreed to have a part in this,” Legolas grinned.

Mithrael groaned. “Legolas, why me? Why my _adar_?”—father.

“Because I have already assured the _gwenyn_ as to your father’s skill and that he has taken care of my family’s needs since I can remember. And you, being the apple of your parents’ eyes, are the perfect Elf to get him to do this.”

Mithrael stalled desperately. He knew that eventually Legolas would wear his resistance down. So had the prince done since their infancies. “I do not wish to earn Lord Elrond’s ire,” he protested.

“And how will he find out about you?” Legolas pointed out. “If you keep your silence, none will be the wiser as to the part you played in this.”

“That’s what you said when you convinced us to help you infest the ladies’ public bath with mice!” Mithrael retorted. “And look what happened.”

“That’s because Sirgon lost his nerve and did not guard his tongue well enough,” Legolas pointed out. “Otherwise, no one would have known ‘twas we who set the rodents free in the bathing chambers.” 

Mithrael rolled his eyes. “ _Ada_ will never countenance this!”

“He will if you tell him ‘tis for the greater good.”

“The greater good?!”

“Aye, tell him ‘tis for diplomacy’s sake.” 

Mithrael was incredulous. “With the twins involved?” he choked. “He will never believe me.”

Legolas shrugged. “I am sure your ingenuity is more than equal to the task of thinking up a reasonable excuse.”

His friend was about to come up with another protest when his eyes suddenly turned thoughtful.

“Not the twins,” he said musingly. “ _Ada_ will never swallow that. But perhaps Lord Glorfindel and Master Erestor...” He pursed his lips distractedly. “They _are_ diplomats after all.”

Legolas chuckled, knowing his victory was all but ensured once he got his friend thinking on the matter. “And what will you say when he asks why they did not come to him personally?”

Mithrael frowned. “Their schedule is rather hectic this week,” he said. “I can say you told them of his skill and they then asked me to run this errand for them.”

Legolas clapped a hand on the other Elf’s shoulder. “I knew I could count on you, _meldir_ ”—friend—he grinned.

Mithrael seemed to come back to himself with a start. He groaned once more as he realized what he had committed himself to. 

“Ai, Legolas, you will be the death of your friends yet!” he growled. “Your long-suffering friends I might add!”

The prince laughed merrily. “But you must admit you have never been bored while in my company!”

“And even less so with the twins around,” Mithrael added. “Indeed, I scarcely remember a day of calm since their arrival.” He regarded Legolas curiously as the prince snickered in agreement. “You truly like them, don’t you?” he remarked. “I have never seen you so alive in all our years of comradeship.”

Legolas nodded smilingly. “In their company, I _am_ alive,” he admitted. “They bestir something in me that even my own brothers are not capable of.”

“Or your childhood friends.”

Legolas stared at Mithrael in dismay. “I did not mean to belittle your worth to me, Mithrael!” he said. “You and Sirgon and Heledir are dear to me and always will be.”

Mithrael shook his head. “I was not chiding you, _ernilen_ ”—my prince—he said. “I can guess at the reason for the brethren’s effect on you. They are like you in so many ways; indeed, they are your equals. And so with them, you can be yourself, just another Elf of Eryn Galen. In this I am happy for you, Legolas, for I have seen how ill-at-ease you are playing your princely role though you carry it off so well few have marked it.”

Legolas looked at him with warm gratitude. “And you are one of the few. You are truly a scholar, Mithrael,” he murmured. “Thank you for understanding.”

His friend smiled. “Think nothing of it,” he replied. And then the apprehension came back into his features. “Are you certain you want to go through with this?” he asked, half hoping the prince would reconsider.

Legolas laughed out loud. The ponderous mood had passed. 

“Aye, _mellonen_ ”—my friend—“I most definitely do,” he chuckled. “Now, make certain of your father’s complicity in this. He must hold his peace or the surprise will be ruined.” 

For the third time, Mithrael groaned.

oOoOoOo

Hardly had Mithrael started on his mission when Legolas commenced one of his own. The following morning, he and the twins rode out with nary a word to anyone as to either their destination or purpose. All the sentries were able to impart to their exasperated king was that they had headed in an easterly direction.

Thus, when they failed to reappear in the next three days, it was perfectly understandable that their sires and dams thought the worst had befallen them. Thranduil was just about to mount a massive search for them when, on the morning of the fourth day, all three princes suddenly returned. They looked well and rather self-satisfied. And all three were just this side of tipsy.

The Elvenking promptly ordered them into his study where assiduous questioning elicited the information that, at the twins’ behest, they had paid a visit to the human city of Esgaroth to the east. The discovery provided great relief for Thranduil and Ithilwen. The denizens of Esgaroth traded regularly with the folk of the Woodland Realm. They were quite used to seeing Elves in their midst though probably none as fair as the three lordlings who had so recently partaken of their hospitality.

After ascertaining that none of their sons were suffering from anything more life-threatening than the noxious effects of dwarven ale, Ithilwen and Celebrían finally withdrew from the study. The three youths, however, remained were they were, sprawled upon the long couch beneath the tall windows of the chamber. Under their respective fathers’ jaundiced eyes.

Neither Thranduil nor Elrond were all that sanguine about the supposedly innocent nature of their sons’ expedition into human territory. As such, they insisted that the three remain in the study while they proceeded with their meeting with Glorfindel and Erestor. Just in case.

Their suspicions soon proved justified as evinced by the murmured conversation that took place, or rather unraveled, behind them. While far from inebriated, the young Elves had imbibed enough to render their tongues looser than usual. 

“So, how did you find them, Legolas?” Elladan asked with a marked drawl.

“They are gamesome enough,” Legolas replied. “But they do not seem to comprehend the concept of taking one’s time.”

Elrohir chuckled. “Mortals don’t have as much time to take as Elves do,” he pointed out. “Though I dare say part of their haste had much to do with your appearance.”

“My appearance? What do you mean?”

“They likely feared you would disappear before they could get more than a taste of your considerable charms,” Elladan teased.

Legolas was not the only one to turn bright red. Thranduil was also seen to flush quite deeply while Elrond choked at this display of his sons’ all too lubricious humor. Their discomfiture had Glorfindel and Erestor wondering if they should tactfully take their leave.

“Still, there is nothing like an Elf-maid to satisfy one’s needs,” Elrohir sagely remarked.

“Aye, their endurance is such that they can last the whole night if necessary,” Elladan agreed. “Mortal women tire after a while, I fear.” 

“Yet they do have their merits,” Legolas suddenly quipped, “if the wench who kept me company last night was any indication of their abilities.”

This time, it was Thranduil who choked. Elrond, on the other hand, trained a look on his counsellors that warned them not to breathe a single word of the disreputable exchange to anyone. Both Elves solemnly nodded their acquiescence.

“Ah, you are learning!” Elrohir chortled. 

Legolas grinned. “Well, ‘twas you who taught me so well, _mellyn_ ”— friends—he said. “You have my eternal gratitude.”

Elladan snickered. “You have not learned the half of it yet, _cunneth_ ”—princeling—he cooed. 

His twin concurred. “There is so much more out there for you to sink your teeth into.”

The double entendre was not lost on his brother or friend and both burst out in appreciative laughter. Their sires, however, were not so amused.

“‘Tis a pity your people have chosen to limit their horizons,” Elrohir commented. “They do not know what they are missing.”

Legolas looked at him curiously. “In what manner have we limited ourselves? What are we missing?”

“The ancient path,” Elladan answered carelessly.

Elvenking and Elvenlord froze in the same instant.

“The _what_ path?” Legolas innocently inquired.

“ _Pin nith_ ”—young ones—Elrond suddenly intoned, fastening a quelling glare on his too voluble sons. “I suggest you sleep off that foul brew you consumed.”

Uttered in just that tone, his disarmingly mild reproof had a most electrifying effect on the brethren. Casting guilty looks at each other, the twins swiftly rose to their feet, pulling Legolas along with them, and hastily complied with their father’s wish. 

As the door closed behind them, Elrond sat back and rubbed his suddenly throbbing temple.

“That was too close,” Erestor murmured.

Thranduil nodded and sighed. “Thank you, Elrond,” he said.

The Elf-lord looked up and wanly smiled. “Your son will discover the truth eventually,” he reminded the king. “Particularly if he continues to keep company with mine.”

“I am well aware of that,” Thranduil agreed. “But I’d rather he finds out later than sooner. He is still so very young.”

“He is hardly an innocent any longer,” Glorfindel softly pointed out.

The Elvenking nodded. “Thanks in large part to the twins,” he said. “I suppose I should be grateful that he came under their able tutelage.” He waited for the rueful chuckles to die down. “But to tell him of the ancient path is a task I would rather put off for now. The knowledge would completely upend everything he knows about our race. I would prefer that he be a little more prepared for such a revelation than he is at present.”

“That is understandable,” Elrond said. “Forgive my sons for their indiscretion. ‘Twas not intentional.”

“I know. Too much drink will oft lead to loose talk. Thankfully, it can also cloud memory. I doubt Legolas will remember what they said.”

“Nonetheless, I shall have a word with them,” Glorfindel decided. He glanced at Elrond for permission. “We cannot afford more mistakes of this nature.”

Elrond had to smile. If there was one Elf other than himself to whom the twins earnestly hearkened, it was Rivendell’s golden captain. But after all, one did not lightly cross a being who had battled a Balrog to the death and lived a second life to talk about it.

Thranduil shook his head of a sudden, a grin tugging at his otherwise stern mouth. “There has not been so much excitement in my halls since we marched to Mordor in the last age,” he said. “I wonder if this alliance is really all that necessary. Should the Dark Lord rise once more, we could simply send your sons to Mordor. I wager he would quit Middle-earth soonest than endure the twins’ company for eternity!”

Mercifully, the king proved right and Legolas did not recall the twins’ alarming slip of the tongue. And, amazingly, the remaining days before the departure of the Rivendell party passed without incident. That is, incidents of any magnitude. 

Whether this was due to the influence of Rivendell’s resident Balrog slayer, the brethren’s own sense of culpability at nearly letting the cat out of the proverbial bag, or a combination of both, did not matter in the least. The residents of the royal halls were of one accord. This was a most welcome respite and they all took advantage of it to catch their collective breaths.

***********************************************  
Glossary:  
gwanur – brother or sister though a more accurate translation would be kinsman or kinswoman  
Naneth – Mother  
mellon – friend  
gwenyn – twins  
Ada - Papa

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

The day before the departure of Elrond’s entourage opened with a glorious sunrise. But three young Elves were unusually subdued despite the day’s bright promise. Neither Elladan, Elrohir nor Legolas paid much attention to the fine weather, the preparations for the night’s festivities or the flirtations that by now had reached a frantic crescendo as the twins’ imminent departure drew closer. None of the three had much heart for merry-making when the morrow portended something none of them desired. Such was the friendship that now bound them together.

Nevertheless, their naturally ebullient spirits could not be kept down for long and as the day passed, they found the energy and enthusiasm to pull off a flurry of last-minute pranks. Targeting in particular Elves they had reason to dislike, their schemes signaled the end of the respite Thranduil’s household had enjoyed for the briefest time. Not a few hapless Elves began to count the hours and minutes until they should be granted a more lasting peace. 

Late in the afternoon, the twins finally retreated to their chamber to prepare for the farewell feast much to the relief of their various victims, both past and intended. Within the sanctum of their room, raven tresses were formally bound and plaited whilst a pair of lissome torsos and well-shaped limbs waited to be poured into near-gossamer under-tunics, thick but finely woven hose and light, ankle-high shoes, all in scrumptious shades of silver and grey.

Elladan glanced at his brother as the latter finished braiding his hair, a speculative gleam in his slate blue eyes.

“Well, what have you to say of our stay here?” he queried.

Elrohir smiled. “It has been a most interesting visit,” he replied. “I look forward to many more in the years to come.” 

“And Legolas? What have you to say about our friend?”

The younger twin looked at him in surprise. “He is quick-witted, warm-hearted and valiant of spirit,” he enumerated. At Elladan’s unsatisfied expression, he asked in perplexity, “What else would you have me say?”

“That he is comely besides.”

“Aye, he is,” Elrohir agreed. “Indeed, he will be beautiful when he attains his full growth.”

“Ah, so you have noticed,” Elladan now grinned. 

Elrohir regarded his brother curiously. “One can hardly ignore such fairness,” he said. “What is your point, _gwaniuar_?”—older twin. “Are you thinking of pursuing him?”

“Nay, but I thought _you_ would,” Elladan rejoined.

Elrohir blinked in surprise. “Why?” he asked. “What led you to believe me interested?”

“Your unusual regard for him,” the older twin explained. “‘Tis not your habit to be enamored of anyone before you have known them long. I thought you were perhaps drawn to him in more ways than one.” 

Elrohir snorted. “That is absolutely out of the question, Elladan,” he protested. “He is our friend. Besides, even were I inclined to woo him, which I am not, mind you, we have been cautioned against approaching the _ellyn_ of this kingdom. And have you forgotten Glorfindel’s scolding already?”

Elladan chuckled. “Nay, I have not forgotten. But you can be quite tenacious when you desire something. I would not put it past you to flout tradition or good sense to attain what you want. I am not insisting that you will indeed go after him,” he added when Elrohir started to protest. “I am only reminding you of your wont.”

The younger twin shook his head. “Be that as it may, I am not about to undo this alliance Father has secured so ardently just to slake my lust for an Elf even if he be a prince. Not that I do lust for him,” the Elf-knight hastily added at the renewed gleam in his twin’s wickedly sparkling eyes.

Elladan guffawed at his brother’s discomfiture. “Calm down, _gwanneth_ ”—younger twin—he snickered. “I was only teasing you.”

“I should hope so!” Elrohir retorted. “You will land us both in trouble with your imprudent talk.”

“Since when did you care?”

“Since now.” The younger twin turned serious. “For all our pleasure in this visit, that was never the main reason for our coming here. Father is right. This alliance is of the utmost importance though we do not feel the need for it just yet.” 

Elladan looked at his brother wonderingly. “You are introspective this day, Elrohir,” he commented. 

“I only ponder the courage of Thranduil’s people,” Elrohir countered. “Imagine what it must be like for these folk to have lived here all these ages without certitude of life and limb.” He shook his head in admiration. “Imladris is sheltered in comparison with Vilya to protect it.”

“Aye, that is true,” Elladan had to agree. He smiled and clapped a hand on his twin’s shoulder. “Forget my jesting, Elrohir. As you said, Legolas is our friend and ‘twas discourteous of me to have bandied his name in such a loose manner. Elbereth forbid he ever finds out what I said!”

“Do not worry,” Elrohir grinned. “My lips are sealed.” 

A knock on the door cut their conversation short. A moment later, the subject of their discussion walked in followed by a nervous Mithrael. The latter carried in his arms two robes of sumptuous fabric and outstanding embroidery. Legolas lifted one and held it up for the twins’ inspection.

“I trust ‘tis what you wanted?” he grinned.

The brethren grinned back.

“‘Tis perfect,” Elrohir replied.

oOoOoOo

The farewell feast was a sharp contrast to the first night dinner that welcomed the Rivendell party to Greenwood; for this evening’s festivities, strict formality was observed and every Elf present, man or woman, was arrayed accordingly. Not unexpectedly, the Rivendell Elves stood out distinctly due to their heavier, floor-length robes. Therefore, it was quite a jolt for everyone when the twins made their appearance with Legolas preceding them. Even Celebrian who had personally prepared their wardrobe was taken by surprise when she laid eyes on her sons and the prince.

Legolas was stunning, garbed as he was in aquamarine and gold. But even more than just mere physical beauty, there was an air about him that made him look, well, different. There was a sensuality to his natural grace that had not been there previously. His own parents and brothers had to take a second look to confirm that it was indeed he. 

“Are my eyes deceiving me or has he suddenly grown... alluring?” Ithilwen whispered to her lord and husband.

“He has grown alluring,” Thranduil assured her. 

“But how? When?” the queen murmured in puzzlement. “It seems like only yesterday that he was so innocent.”

“I warrant it has to do with being in company with Elrond’s sons,” the king replied wryly, reminded that he had kept some of the twins’ exploits from his wife’s knowledge. “The incident in the healing rooms was but the beginning.”

“The beginning?” Ithilwen stared at him. “But who—? Where—?”

“Later, _meleth_. ‘Tis not a topic to be spoken of in polite circles.” 

As the three princes, made their way into the great hall, a discernable murmur of excitement arose as much brought on by the twins as by the Elvenking’s youngest son. 

Both wore the rich emerald and silver ensembles their mother had meticulously selected. But the robes, the long, sweeping robes with their intricate embroidery and exquisite textures, had been altered into the fashion of the Sindar and Silvan Elves. A master tailor had skillfully shortened the original garments and opened and restyled the fronts, revealing the almost sheer under-tunics and finely woven hose beneath. Not to mention the well-formed bodies and lean yet muscular limbs that bore them.

Celebrían dazedly clutched at her husband’s arm. “I am unsure as to whether I should be appalled or delighted,” she hissed. “They have undone nearly four months worth of work on those robes. I chose them so carefully, _hervenn_!”—husband.

Elrond sighed. “At least we know that the Wood-elves’ fashions suit them,” he offered consolingly.

About to make a caustic retort, Celebrían noticed the appreciative regard the Greenwood Elves were bestowing upon the twins. She exchanged a glance with Elrond. It was quite apparent their hosts had taken the brethren’s gesture as a great compliment. That their appearance was eminently easy on the eyes certainly did no harm either. 

“It seems our sons will leave quite a mark on Greenwood,” Elrond murmured.

Glorfindel, who happened to be behind him, heard his comment and said humorously, “That is an egregious understatement. With all that was accomplished between them and Prince Legolas, I wager our hosts will heave a collective sigh of relief when we leave tomorrow.”

“And count themselves fortunate that their halls are still standing,” Erestor added with a shake of his head. 

They noted Thranduil and Ithilwen making their way toward them. The Elvenking was seen to stifle a wry smile when he took note of their expressions.

“I gather you did not know of this either?” he remarked, glancing to where his son and the twins stood, surrounded by admirers of the female variety.

Elrond nodded in resignation. “‘Tis as much a surprise to us, Thranduil,” he admitted.

“More of a shock,” Celebrían snipped. “I cannot believe—!” She broke off, unwilling to speak uncharitably of her sons in the presence of others.

Ithilwen wound a comforting arm around hers. “But it would seem this last endeavor of theirs will prove most beneficial to our needs,” she cooed. “Whatever ill will they may have sown earlier has now all but disappeared. It bodes well for this alliance we have forged.”

Celebrían had to smile at that. “I suppose there are all kinds of ways to practice diplomacy,” she commented. She nodded in Legolas’ direction. “And we have your youngest to thank for this state of affairs as well,” she said. “In showing them naught but warmth and friendship, he has proved himself a most efficient politician.”

Ithilwen shook her head. “Nay, Legolas did not do this for the sake of the alliance,” she said. “He liked your sons at first sight, of that I am certain. I saw it in his eyes as soon as he set them upon the twins.”

Thranduil agreed. “Indeed, he is loath to have them leave,” he added. “I had to promise him that he could visit Imladris in turn just to lift his spirits these last few days.”

Elrond smiled. “He will be more than welcome,” he said. “For I believe my sons return his regard in equal measure. Theirs will be a far deeper alliance than that which now binds our realms, Thranduil.”

The Elvenking nodded. “I am glad of it,” he remarked. “Seldom have I seen Legolas so happy and at ease. I would have him enjoy such moments as frequently as circumstances allow.”

“We would say the same for Elladan and Elrohir,” Celebrían intoned. She looked mischievously at Elrond. “And _you_ wanted to leave them behind, _hervenn_ ,” she teased. “What say you now of that idea?”

Elrond had the grace to look abashed. “I would say ‘twas an idiotic notion,” he conceded. “Thank the Powers I am wed to a most persuasive lady!”

After dinner, the three young princes took the chance to slip away from the crowd and enjoy the sweet night air in the gardens behind the pavilion. As they walked, they spoke of the two months just passed and mused on the future. In this, the brethren saw Legolas’ countenance droop a little.

“What troubles you, Calenlass?” Elrohir asked gently.

The golden-haired prince shrugged listlessly. “I have so enjoyed these past months with you that I find I cannot look forward to tomorrow when you will depart.” He looked shyly from Elrohir to Elladan. “It will be lonely without you, _mellynen_.”—my friends.

The twins smiled tenderly at him. “Imladris will seem lacking as well though we call it home,” Elladan told him. “We will miss you, _cunneth_.”—princeling.

“Hopefully not for long,” Legolas said. “ _Ada_ promised me that I might visit you. That is if you will welcome me.”

“If?” Elrohir exclaimed. “We would bring you home with us tomorrow were it permitted. Of course, we will welcome you, Legolas. You will always have a place in Imladris.”

The prince flushed with pleasure. “I know ‘tis not possible soonest,” he said. “I have much to complete before I may absent myself from Eryn Galen for a long period of time. But I feel much better now knowing there is something to look forward to and that you feel about me as I do about you.”

The twins chuckled in tandem. 

“Hearken to your tutors, _ernil min_ ”—our prince—Elladan said.

“And do your utmost in all your endeavors, no matter how trivial they may seem,” Elrohir continued. “When next we meet, your greater mastery will only add to our pleasure in each other’s company.” 

The prince’s azure eyes sparkled with happy anticipation. “Then I will do my best,” he vowed. “I would have you proud of me.”

“We already are,” Elladan grinned. “You can only make us prouder.” 

Legolas beamed at the compliment. He glanced at Elrohir as the younger twin slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Now that that’s out of the way, what say we make this last night more memorable?” he suggested with a grin.

“In what way?” Legolas queried.

“I believe your father’s counsellors are seeing us off tomorrow?” The prince nodded. “‘Twill be dreary ritual and tradition then, I wager. Elladan and I have no liking for such pomp.”

“What do you have in mind?” Elladan asked suspiciously. 

Elrohir gave a conspiratorial wink. “What say we make it impossible for the most insufferable of the lot to show up tomorrow morn?”

He brought out a small phial, which he handed to Elladan. The older twin read the inscription on it then guffawed. “A few drops in their wine tonight will suffice,” he chortled. “Oh, _gwanneth_ , you are wicked!”

“What is that?” Legolas asked, not knowing whether to be elated or alarmed.

“A simple sleeping draught, Legolas,” Elladan explained. “‘Twill ensure they do not awaken in time to go through their paces when we leave.” 

“Just a sleeping draught?” Legolas looked from one twin to the other. “That seems rather tame for you. There is something you are not telling me, _gwenyn_.”—twins.

Elrohir grinned at his brother. “He has learned his lessons well, _muindor_ ”—brother—he snickered. He tapped Legolas’ shoulder reassuringly. “‘Tis a sleeping draught which takes effect with remarkable swiftness. It will be interesting to see which of your father’s esteemed counsellors will make it out of the hall before slumber overtakes them.”

Legolas stared at him. Then he giggled. Then he burst out laughing. “Elladan is right,” he gasped in between bouts of mirth. “You _are_ wicked!” 

An hour later, Thranduil’s servants were carting away several of the king’s counsellors who snored the night away, oblivious of the spectacle they had made at the farewell dinner. No one knew for certain just how they all happened to collapse into slumber in concert. But not a few looked with trepidation at the twin brethren of Rivendell and the youngest prince of the Woodland Realm. For it seemed too much of a coincidence that the advisors so precipitately put to sleep were also known to be the ones most full of themselves. 

The innocent seeming lordlings were not talking and so it remained a mystery to all. But when the morn arrived and not a one of the afflicted advisors showed up at the doors of the delved palace, they were seen to smile with satisfaction, making one and all ever more suspicious of their participation in if not their instigation of the incident. 

“A success, I must say,” Elladan grinned as he and Elrohir made their farewells to Legolas.

“Even more so since they cannot prove our complicity in it,” Elrohir added with a chuckle.

Legolas laughed merrily. “I will write you often, _mellynen_ ,” he said, “and pray the years will pass swiftly until I may go to your valley in turn.”

“We will write you, too,” Elrohir smiled. “And should you find that you cannot visit us as you desire, we will find the means to come back instead.” 

The prince’s smile widened at the reassurance. “Farewell then,” he said. “Until we meet again.”

Each twin returned his warm embrace.

“Take care, _ernil min_ ,” Elladan gently replied.

“May Elbereth’s light always shine upon you, Calenlass,” Elrohir softly intoned. 

And then they were vaulting onto their steeds with steely grace and supple strength. They urged their horses forward to join their parents and the others. As might be expected, at the mouth of the tree-formed corridor, they turned and waved at the last to their golden friend.

But there was no hint of good-bye in their gesture. Rather, there was the promise of tomorrow in their grey eyes and knowing smiles. For as Master Elrond had so succinctly put it, an alliance of even greater depth had been forged between these sons of the Woodland Realm and the hidden vale. Would that Manwë and Varda and all the Powers smile upon it in the many years to come. 

*************************************  
Glossary:  
ellyn – male Elves  
meleth – love  
Ada - Papa

_End of Part I._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Part II: With Friends Like These - Legolas’s first visit to Rivendell proves educational in more ways than one when he learns of the choice of the Peredhil then stumbles upon a tryst with an unexpected twist._


End file.
